The Shore Thing (States of Love)

by Barley A. R.

  It should have been exciting.

  Dale knew he should be excited.

  But that didn’t explain the icy tendrils of fear curling around his heart. Fuck. A job was long-term. It meant Nico was someone he could depend on.

  It meant Nico was depending on him. The thought was enough to give him hives, but—

  “Dale!” Nico raced out of the house in an olive-green button-down and a pair of dark khaki shorts that showed off his knees.

  Dale sucked in a breath. He’d never been attracted to knees before—not when there were so many more intriguing parts of the male anatomy—but Nico’s were delicious. They were dimpled.

  “You asshole.” Nico slammed his hands against Dale’s chest. His jaw was tense. He looked ready to fight. In a dark alley or crowded bar it might have been intimidating, but in Dale’s sunlit backyard it was fucking cute. “Who are these people?”

  Dale was confused… very, very confused. He glanced around. The four large picnic tables had been covered in newspaper. The bucket brigade of beer bros was building a pyramid in the shade of the outdoor shower. The sliding door to the house was open, and people were popping out every few minutes to steal a drink from the growing pile. In a little while, he was going to need to check to make sure that it was still structurally sound.

  Laughter was coming from around the side of the house. Bright and cheerful. Someone’s kids had found the hose.

  “I told you I was inviting the guys.” He shifted back onto his heels. “Is this because Becky’s a girl?”

  “That’s sexist,” Becky said.

  Nico looked like his head was about to explode. His eyes were wide. His pupils were dilated. His bottom lip was hanging down in amazement, full and kissable. Bitable.

  Dale’s heart stuttered. He wanted to wrap his arms tight around Nico and never let him go—at least not until they found a bed. That didn’t stop him from grinning. “Definitely sexist.”

  “I’m not sexist,” Nico barked out loud enough to draw attention from around the yard. “The guys means two or three—maybe ten. There are over thirty people here.”

  “Low turnout for one of Dale’s parties,” Becky observed. “Of course, this is more a dinner thing, and mostly he holds orgies.”

  “Hey!” That was a step too far. “They’re not orgies.” He grinned. “Last time I threw a party, someone got married.”

  “And two women ended up pregnant.”

  Dale shrugged. “They’re really good parties.”

  “This wasn’t supposed to be a party,” Nico interrupted. “It was supposed to be a few people eating dinner. I’m not dressed for a party.” He smoothed his shirt reflexively. “I’m not prepared for a party. I’m not a party person.”

  Shit. Dale’s first instinct was to laugh off Nico’s concern—no one cared how he was dressed—but that wouldn’t ease the tension radiating between his shoulder blades.

  “Don’t worry,” he finally said. “This isn’t a party. This is dinner.”

  “This isn’t a party?” Richard had gotten close enough to eavesdrop. “I came to party.”

  “Dude, there are kids here.”

  “But they’re leaving eventually, right?”

  “About five minutes after you.”

  Richard didn’t look pleased. He never did. Tall, broad, and—largely considered—good-looking except for the permanent scowl across his face. Dale had been hiring him regularly since he’d gotten his lifeguard certification at sixteen. Next year he was going to look for someone else. He needed dependable people on his team—reliable.

  Ones who didn’t call in sick or make goo-goo eyes at their coworkers.

  He waved a hand between Richard and Becky. Neither of them was paying attention to him. Not when they could be looking at each other.

  Idiots. He was surrounded by lovesick idiots.

  He frowned. “Did two women really end up pregnant after my last party?”

  “Nancy Conrad and Tanya Hart.”

  “Huh.” He grabbed Becky by the arm and tugged her six inches closer. He might not be able to protect her from a broken heart, but teen pregnancy was another matter entirely. “You’re sitting next to me.” He glared at Richard. “You can sit anywhere else.”

  “And me?” Nico asked.

  Dale shrugged. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  With that decided, things finally started to move again. The crabs were fresh caught and fresh cooked. The leftovers would still be sweet the next day, but they were best hot. Sticky and covered in spice. Burning fingertips and straining eyes to see through the steam.

  Ten minutes after Dale’s arrival, the picnic tables were full. Dale was on the end of his table with Becky on one side and Nico on the other. Richard had snuck onto the bench at the other end. It would have been better if he were in the backyard equivalent of Siberia, but Dale couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Not when the first crab was already sitting in front of him.

  No fancy plates and place settings for a crab fest, not when it was easier to put down newspaper and drink beer from the bottle. There was a bucket of tools halfway down the table, wooden mallets and plastic nutcrackers that wouldn’t work on walnuts but would do fine on a crab’s thin shell. A full roll of paper towels bumped against his elbow as he turned the crab over onto its back. There was an empty bucket on the other end of the table to toss the empty shells into.

  “Here.” He leaned across to Nico, flipping his crab over so it was in the same position. “See this here.” He pointed toward the V of shell on his crab’s belly. “That’s called the apron.”

  “What if it’s a guy?” Nico asked.

  “They’re all guys. Female crabs get tossed back.”

  “Now that’s sexist.”

  “Probably, but it’s also sound environmental practice. Female crabs make more crabs. These little dudes are dinner.” He pulled back on the apron. “Crabs are hard to get into, but tug on the apron and it’s like pulling down a zipper. Everything opens right up.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Next you pop off the shell, and then you break the sucker in half.” He cracked the crab into two pieces, then leaned back to wait. “Your turn.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” He nodded at Nico’s crab. “Take a hold of the apron and pull.”

  Nico’s fingers were long and capable. It still took him a moment to do as he was told, separating the apron and then tugging off the shell. He rubbed his fingers clean on a paper towel before cracking the crab in two. The expression on his face when he saw the lungs and guts inside was cute.

  Distraught… disgusted… and cute.

  “It gets better,” Dale promised.

  Nico’s lips were pressed together in a thin line.

  “Here.” It was the work of a moment for Dale to clean the debris from his own crab, break the cartilage by the back fin, and come up with a large lump of crabmeat. “Taste this.”

  “I’ve had crab before.”

  “Not like this.” Dale rolled the meat in vinegar and butter before holding it out. Nico’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. For a brief moment their eyes met, and then…. Nico bent forward to accept the meat into his mouth.

  Feeding Nico was unthinkably intimate and yet—surrounded by friends and family—it was right.

  “Oh.” A soft moan escaped Nico’s throat as he leaned into Dale’s hand. His lips sucked against one finger, wet and eager.

  The motion went straight from Dale’s hand to his dick. All those nights spent imagining what Nico’s mouth would feel like against his skin and now he knew. Whatever doubts he’d had vanished in a moment of absolute certainty. He wanted more.

  Fuck. He wanted everything.

  “Okay.” Nico pulled back slightly. “You convinced me. What do I do next?”

  Dale showed him exactly what he’d done. “If you get this part right, then it’s easy sailing. Each leg should twist out with meat attached. If you screw
up here, you’ve got to start pulling things apart with your fingers.”

  “What about the claw? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “It is easier. That’s why we save it for last.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easiest to buy the crab already picked?”

  “Didn’t you ever hear the expression ‘good things come to those who wait’?”

  “My grandfather might have told me that once or twice.” Nico tasted the first bit of meat from his own crab and let out a soft moan.

  The sound was invigorating. Electrifying. It made Dale’s erection buck and throb.

  He started to eat his own crab. All the textured flavors he’d spent his life savoring seemed fresh and new with Nico next to him, experiencing everything for the first time with butter-slick lips and shining silver eyes.

  If Dale kissed him now, would he taste like crab and beer and the best nights of his life?

  “Boss.” Becky elbowed him in the side. When he didn’t answer, she did it a second time. Hard enough to leave a bruise. “Boss, are you listening?”

  Listening to what? Other conversation going on around the table? Dale couldn’t bring himself to care. The only sound that mattered was the little gasp of air that escaped from Nico as he tugged him even closer. Now they were sitting knee-to-knee and hip-to-hip.

  “Is it important?” he asked.

  “Austin was asking—”

  “I wanted to know if you could stop by my place sometime.” Dale didn’t know when Austin Danvers had sat down at the table—or who’d told him about the party. The redheaded medical student was wearing a pink tank top advertising the miniature golf course, and a pair of wraparound sunglasses were pushed up on the top of his head.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” Austin rolled his eyes. “I’ve got some problems with my plants. I thought you might be able to help.”

  “Too hard for you to understand, Mr. Med School?”

  “It’s not human anatomy. Besides, you’re the biology major.”

  “You’re a biology major?” Nico’s brow lifted in surprise.

  Dale shrugged. “I had a swimming scholarship.”

  “Boss man’s smarter than he looks.” Becky grinned as she pulled her crab apart. “Where did you go to school?”

  “Northside Prep.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Like high school? What about college?”

  “I took a couple of classes—bookkeeping, economics—but I don’t have a degree or anything.”

  “You want to start up again, I could help you out.”

  “Because biology has so much to do with bookkeeping?”

  “My minor was business administration.”

  “No shit.” Nico’s brow furrowed. His eyes flickered with something like respect. “You need all that to be a lifeguard?”

  “I didn’t always want to be a lifeguard.”

  “Yeah.” Austin laughed. “You wanted to be a—”

  There was a loud smack of flesh on flesh, and then Austin yelped. Someone must have kicked him. From the satisfied expression on her face, it had been Becky. Dale gave her a fist bump.

  “Come on,” Nico said. He’d started on his second crab and was picking up speed. “What did you want to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Seriously? It’s got to be something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be glaring at everyone.”

  “I’m not glaring.”

  “You look like you’re going to eat the first person who says something.”

  “I’m not—” The only person who he wanted to eat was Nico, and that was more metaphoric than nutritional. He took a deep breath and attempted to paste a smile on his face. Austin flinched. Good. “It doesn’t matter. The job I wanted doesn’t exist.”

  “Dragon tamer. You wanted to be a dragon tamer.”

  “Close enough.”

  Nico’s eyes narrowed. He clearly wasn’t buying the dragon tamer story. Too freaking bad, it had been years since Dale had thought about his hopes and dreams. He wasn’t willing to restart that controversy for some guy’s entertainment.

  Even if he did make Dale’s cock rise and his heart soar.

  His eyes fluttered shut. His mouth dropped open. He forced air down into his lungs, struggling to bring his unruly libido back under control. It didn’t help. Not when every breath brought with it the scent of Nico’s skin and the sunlight trapped in his hair.

  Nico’s leg pressed close against his. In the late summer heat, it was almost too much to bear, but Dale refused to pull away from him.

  Not if he had a choice.

  They were talking about something else now. Austin and Nico were asking Becky about her plans for college. Richard kept trying to interject, but no one was listening to him. Good. Dale let out a long breath. His eyes flickered open.

  Nico was smiling at him, bright and shining. Over the past few days he’d lathered himself in sunscreen, but the sun had done its work. His warm skin was brighter… bolder. The golden tones sparkled in the early evening air.

  Then he was leaning in close and asking for advice on the finer points of crab picking. With laughter coming from another table—and the whooping of the whip-poor-wills in the distance—the evening was bordering on perfection, and it hadn’t even started.

  Dale couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Nine.

  PICKING CRABS with Dale and his friends was fun. It was relaxed. The party that started as soon as the tables were cleared off and the kids were packed into cars and sent home for the night was anything but. It was loud, raucous, and out of control… but when Dale pulled him into his arms in front of all and sundry, it became one of the best nights of Nico’s life.

  Being that close together had his heart beating fast. His throat was dry—incapable of forming any of the thousands of words he wanted to use—and his entire body was throbbing in time to the music. He wanted to make his move—to tell Dale exactly how he felt—but instead he drank another beer and nestled back into the crook of his arm. Someone had started a fire in the pit outside, and Becky had challenged Austin to a pop-n-lock contest.

  It turned out the girl could break-dance.

  Everything was perfect.

  That didn’t mean he was unhappy when the cops broke it up.

  “Shit,” Becky swore as she gathered up her stuff—a messenger bag–style purse and a pair of enormous sunglasses that would put Audrey Hepburn to shame. “How long do you think it took the neighbors to call the po-po?”

  “We prefer Five-Oh.” The responding officer was six foot five in his uniform boots. He’d come in and eaten one of the leftover crabs before he started shooing people toward the door. “Anyway, there’s a noise ordinance.”

  “Come on, Dilly.” Dale didn’t seem too upset to have an oversized stormtrooper in his backyard. If anything, he seemed a little too calm, picking up trash and chatting with the guy like they were old friends. “We both know it’s a bullshit ordinance.”

  “This isn’t the country anymore.”

  “Don’t I fucking know it.”

  “Hey.” Richard’s head popped up from the far side of a battered sun chair. He waved broadly at Becky, not seeming to care about the conversation he was interrupting. “You need a ride?”

  “You need a DUI?” the cop—Dilly—snapped.

  Dale gave Dilly a fist bump. Clearly the two of them had history, and if the smoldering looks coming from the guy in the uniform were anything to go by, then it was more than friendly. The warmth in Nico’s chest flickered and died. The happy buzz he’d been developing all night was gone, replaced by harsh reality as he watched Dale move around the backyard.

  “Don’t worry,” Austin said. “I’ll make sure they both get home.” He didn’t give Becky or Richard an opportunity to object, grabbing them each by an arm and hustling them around the side of the house.

  “He sober?” Dilly asked.

  “Didn’t touch a drop,” Dale said.

  “Sto
ned.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Maybe I’ll give him a drug test anyway, to be sure. Unless you want me to stay?” The smexy looks were back. “I could keep you company while you clean up. We could keep the party going—while respecting the noise ordinance.”

  The last straggler finally grabbed their gear and headed toward the drive. The backyard was empty except for the three of them, and Nico was beginning to feel like one hell of a third wheel.

  Fuck. He wanted to scream and rant and gnash his teeth. His hands balled into fists, but this wasn’t a movie. He wasn’t some teenaged asshole getting ready to fight for his man. Assaulting an officer of the law wasn’t on his to-do list.

  But he was still angry.

  Was Dale going to take Dilly up on the offer behind those bedroom eyes? And, more importantly, had the cop not noticed the way Dale and him had been snuggled up on the sun chaise when he walked into the backyard? Was it so far out of the realm of possibility that Dale would actually be interested in him?

  If the two of them started making out, Nico was leaving. He was going to get in his car and drive—except this time he wasn’t going to end up hundreds of miles away from home, a stranger in a strange land. He was going straight to the nearest bar to drown his sorrows.

  Officer Dilly took half a step toward Dale, and Nico saw red.

  Except he wasn’t angry because of the other man’s assumptions. He was mad at himself. He was angry because of all the time he’d wasted back in Chicago when he could have come out to his family years ago, when he could have told his grandfather the truth and taken his lumps like a man. Like a Travelli.

  Maybe he would have been fired—or worse—but at least he’d have been proud to hold his head up high.

  Then there was all the time he’d wasted since he’d arrived in Delaware, waiting for the right moment to make his move on Dale, when clearly the right moment had been any time when it was the two of them and nobody else, and the worst that could happen was Dale might say no.

  Except he didn’t think Dale would have said no if it was the two of them.

  But now there was someone else, someone tall and handsome with full lips and freaking dimples.